The OTHER Right Weasley
by Mamacita-san
Summary: Harry has a plan to keep Ginny happy after he himself falls in love with Ron-but he waits too long to put it into action. Fortunately for him, things just sort of...take care of themselves.


AN: When I wrote _The Right Weasley_ I had Harry toss off a casual remark that I had no intention of following up on, but a couple of reviewers asked about it and (ahem, years later!) finally had an idea for a follow-up. So here it is, and thank you for being interested enough to ask! Oh, and thanks to Selector, once again, for "Merlin's flaming penis!" A timeless classic.

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><p>It was a novel idea—allowing previous seventh years to return and finish their education as <em>eighth<em> years. Such a thing had never been done before, and there was some head-shaking and muttering among older witches and wizards over whether it was really necessary; after all, the students in question were over seventeen now and thus of age in the wizarding world—and had they not already proven themselves fully capable of surviving on the field of battle? How much more capable, then, ought they to be of surviving in ordinary lives?

But the Board of Governors and the Headmistress of Hogwarts and, for the most part, the parents of Hogwarts students whose seventh and final year of school had been disrupted by Voldemort and his followers held firm, and when the first of September rolled around there was a small but determined class of eighth years who intended to finish their education and pass their N.E.W.T.s so they could get on with their lives and careers as they had planned them before the world had fallen apart.

Over the summer, restoration efforts had been under way at Hogwarts Castle, and much of it had been returned to its former state. Still, however, there was the problem of just where to put these displaced eighth years. The normal House dormitories were only set up for seven years' worth of students, and although the castle herself was more than adequate to the task of rearranging her structure to accommodate an extra year of students in each House, she apparently chose not to do so. Instead, another major change emerged: a fifth House was created.

There was a great deal of discussion among Hogwarts' students, past and present, over this rather startling break with tradition. The Board of Governors forestalled as much protest as they could by explaining that not only did the eighth years need a place to live-they could not, after all, remain in their former Houses if room was to be had there for new incoming first years—but there was an exciting possibility of hosting substantial visits by students from other magical schools around the world in future years, once the new House was no longer needed by the eighth years. Other than during the Triwizard Tournament four years previous, Hogwarts had not really ever done this, so it was thought to be a stroke of pure brilliance on the part of the Board.

Until the very first day of school the name of the new House was kept a closely guarded secret. Only the Board and the Headmistress knew, and they adamantly resisted all efforts to pry the information out of them. Many people were sure it would be named Potter House. (Harry was appalled when he heard about this and wrote to Professor McGonagall immediately, begging her not to even consider such a thing.) Some thought it would be named after Dumbledore who had, after all, been a major figure in the magical world for a good portion of his life, and a beloved one in their own little enclave at Hogwarts for several decades. During the start-of-school feast on the evening of September first, everyone was on tenterhooks as they waited for the mystery to finally be solved.

When the meal came to an end Professor McGonagall rose, beaming, to thunderous applause from the students and staff alike. She stood quietly, looking out over the four House tables at the many familiar faces and noting with sadness how many were missing. Finally she held up her hands for quiet and the applause died down.

"Good evening. Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," she said, her voice trembling a bit with emotion. "I know you are all eager to hear the news, so without further ado I would like to announce the addition to our school of Phoenix House." An excited buzzing broke out and McGonagall motioned for quiet again. "It seemed . . . appropriate . . . to honor in this way both our beloved school, which has risen from the ashes of war to continue serving the magical community, and her students who have refused to accept defeat but determined to pursue their N.E.W.T.s in order to assume their rightful places in the wizarding world." More cheering erupted, and there was a sudden flurry of squeals and shouts as the four House tables and their respective benches moved a short distance along the floor to make room for a fifth table that suddenly appeared. Everyone eyed its empty benches with anticipation.

McGonagall gestured toward the empty table. "Eighth years, will you please remove to your new House table?" The twenty or so eighth years, a mixture of students from three of the four original Houses—all but Slytherin—rose eagerly and made their way to the front of the empty table. It looked a little bare, as their numbers were so few, and no banners hung above it as they did over the other House tables. But McGonagall wasn't finished.

"In addition to our eighth years," she said, and everyone quickly hushed so as not to miss anything, "the Sorting Hat has decided that certain students who distinguished themselves during the recent conflict should also make Phoenix House their new home. As I read off your name, please move to the Phoenix table." She unrolled a short length of parchment and read out a list of about a dozen seventh year names, including Ginny Weasley's. Those whose names were called got up hesitantly, surrounded by applause and catcalls, and slunk with sheepish grins over to join the eighth years.

McGonagall surveyed the Phoenix table critically. "Oh! I nearly forgot," she said. She flourished her wand and there was a sudden flutter and ripple in the air as banners appeared above the Phoenix table, spotless white with the insignia of a Phoenix in fiery copper. A chorus of admiring oohs and aahs went around the Great Hall.

"Very nice, my dear," McGonagall murmured, approving Hogwarts' choice. "Now—Prefects, in a moment you must see your charges to their dormitories. But first—Phoenix House, if you will please follow me, I will show you to your new quarters." She swept down from the platform and along Phoenix's table, the students rising as she passed and following her out. She marched up the stairs, turning aside on the third floor, and passed through a door that at least three Phoenixes knew all too well.

"This is the left-hand corridor on the third floor!" Hermione hissed as she and Ron followed along behind Harry. "Where do you suppose she's taking us?" They proceeded through the door that in their first year had required Alohomora to enter, beyond which had lain, among other obstacles, a vicious three-headed dog Hagrid had named Fluffy—and Harry's first face to face standoff with Voldemort.

McGonagall took them down a hallway they had never seen before and halted when she reached a set of handsome, polished double doors. On the wall to the right was a painting of a Phoenix, so vividly colored that it appeared almost lifelike. It turned its head this way and that, appraising the group of students as they stood waiting for entrance. "Your password is 'Firewhisky'," McGonagall told them. "Which, by the way, is not allowed on school grounds regardless of your age," she said, aiming a pointed look in Seamus' direction while he tried to look as if the idea of smuggling Firewhisky into the school had never so much as crossed his mind. Stifling a smile, she nodded to the Phoenix, who bowed politely and allowed one heavy door to swing open.

The students trooped in, rather hushed as they were uncertain what to expect. But it was nothing so surprising, after all—rather reminiscent of the Gryffindor common room, Harry thought. The large, high-ceilinged room was softly lit by the fireplace in one corner. It was populated by a number of squashy, comfortable-looking sofas and easy chairs, and its windows looked out over the Quidditch pitch, of which Harry and Ron immediately expressed their approval. The requisite portraits were scattered over the walls-except when a startled Ginny looked more closely at the one nearest her, tears came to her eyes and she gave a startled exclamation. It was Fred! He appeared to be sleeping but it was unmistakably her brother, whose life had been extinguished during the final battle.

Ron slung an arm around her comfortingly. "Why isn't he awake?" he wondered out loud. "Usually the portraits are telling us we make too much noise."

"Ah, yes," McGonagall said as she came over to stand with them before the portrait. "Well, these are fairly new portraits, you see, and some of them simply have not come awake yet. But they will—they will, never you fear."

The students began examining the other portraits more closely and realized that each one was of a departed hero of the recent war. Harry was embarrassingly close to tears himself when he walked over to a large frame near the fireplace, which appeared empty except for a wing chair that was turned away from the viewer. "Hello?" he said tentatively.

There was a soft snort as of someone waking suddenly, and Lupin's startled face appeared around the side of the chair. "Harry?" he said in wonder. He rose and came closer. "Is it really you, lad?" He eyed Harry approvingly. "I'm glad to see you looking so well."

"Remus, it's—it's great to see you," Harry said, his voice breaking.

"Ah, Harry. Come on, now, get a grip," Remus said fondly. "It's not so bad. I'm not alone, after all." He held out his hand toward someone standing at the side of the picture—Harry could only just see a fold of fabric moving there—and a blushing Tonks came to join him.

"Wotcher, Harry?" she said with a wink and a grin.

"Wow, this is great!" Harry said. "I'm so glad you're here."

Tonks pointed to her hair which was a vivid auburn with fiery highlights, and more realistic than any of the fantastic colors he'd seen on her previously. "What do you think? Copper, for your house colors."

"Gorgeous," he said truthfully. He continued to gaze at them hungrily until finally a ruckus taking place over near the door caught his attention and he glanced in that direction, reluctant to leave them.

"It's all right, Harry," Remus assured him, "we're not going anywhere. We'll be here whenever you want to talk."

"Okay, thanks." He headed toward the door rather quickly, as he recognized that fair head of hair standing in the middle of an unwelcoming crowd of Phoenixes. "Malfoy!"

Draco turned with unmistakable relief at Harry's friendly greeting. "Potter," he said uncertainly.

"Oi, what the hell is _he_ doing here?" Seamus snarled, and others were shaking their heads doubtfully. "A Slytherin in _our_ common room? Professor, you must be joking—send him back to the dungeons, where he belongs."

McGonagall regarded Seamus with a raised eyebrow until he subsided; then she cast a reproving eye over the group. "Mr. Malfoy has proved his allegiance to the wizarding world many times over," she said quietly. "During the battle and since. As you well know."

There were mutters of "But his father—" and "That's not what I've—", but she pursed her lips and stood firm, aiming sternly disapproving looks at Malfoy's detractors. Suddenly, support appeared from an unexpected source.

Ginny Weasley elbowed her way through the press of stiff, angry Phoenixes. "Draco Malfoy has every right to be here—at this school and in this House," she said fiercely. "As much right as any of you. Whatever his father's done is nothing to do with him. Draco is his own person. We're Phoenix House, remember? Each of us gets a chance to start over if we want to. That's what we're all about! It's only fair that Draco have his chance. If you try to stop him—" she met the eyes of any who would look at her— "then maybe the real question is whether _you_ belong in this House."

There was silence for a moment. Then McGonagall said, "Well put, Miss Weasley." She scanned the group quickly but thoroughly. "I take it no one wishes to debate this issue further?" It appeared no one did. "Very well, then. There is one other change from the dormitory arrangements you have been used to. You will share rooms by pairs rather than the larger groups in the other Houses. The house-elves have already placed your things into rooms, although if you wish to change roommates you are free to do so." She said quietly to Draco, "Since there are an uneven number of male students I have taken the liberty of giving you a room to yourself. You are, of course, most welcome to partner with another student if you wish; but you have the chance of privacy, should you desire it."

She said in a louder voice, "One more thing. Since many of you are now legally of age in the wizarding world, I have not assigned you a Head of House, as such. I will oversee Phoenix House myself; any problems or questions you have may be brought to me." She smiled. "I know you are all originally from different Houses, but I hope you will do your utmost to promote unity within your new House." She glanced meaningfully at Draco. "To that end, I would like to meet tomorrow morning with anyone who is interested in forming a Phoenix Quidditch team. Immediately after breakfast in the Great Hall, if you please. Until then, good night!" She turned and in a whirl of tartan she was out the door, leaving the Phoenixes to themselves.

In record time the common room had emptied. It was agreed that the Headmistress had remarkable powers of observation, if her arrangement of roommates was any indication. Harry and Ron were thankful to be rooming together. Draco was _extremely_ thankful for McGonagall's thoughtful gesture in allowing him a room of his own. Ginny and Padma, it turned out, had always wanted to get to know each other better but had been so thoroughly busy with their previous groups of friends that they hadn't made much of an effort; now they were roommates, and glad it had worked out that way. All in all the arrangements seemed satisfactory to be going on with, and soon Phoenix House was wrapped in blissful sleep.

The next morning, as happens every so often at the beginning of a school year, was a Saturday. Since classes did not begin until Monday and Professor McGonagall wanted to discuss the formation of a Phoenix Quidditch team right after breakfast, the entire population of the House showed up in the common room at seven o'clock sharp—an event possibly unheard of in the entire history of Hogwarts. They chattered and gossiped and cast curious glances at Draco, giving him to suppose that he was the subject of at least some of said chatter and gossip.

When Ron and Harry came down there was a cheer. "Here comes our captain now," Seamus called. Harry blushed and demurred, fully intending to try out like everyone else.

During an unfortunate lull in the conversation Hermione was heard to say, "But what about Draco?"

"What _about_ him?" Ron said in a nasty tone.

"Well, I don't—it just—don't you think he'll try out, too?" Hermione said cautiously. "Maybe you could just try to get along with him, Ron. Like McGonagall said: everyone starting over. You know."

Draco, listening to them from the easy chair he occupied by the fire, sank his chin into his chest and tried to ignore them all.

Hermione was persistent, he'd say that for her—trying every argument she could think of to convince Ron to give Draco a break. Every once in a while a word or two filtered through to Draco's waiting ears. "Nearly _orphaned_, for Merlin's sake . . . not his fault . . . father's in Azkaban, Ron, think how you'd feel if it was you." Clearly Ron was taking some heavy convincing.

Finally Ginny, who had been standing behind Hermione and watching Draco's head sink lower and lower until she was sure there must be a dent in his chest from his pointy chin poking into it, could stand the whispers no longer. Once again she appointed herself Draco's protector—unasked, although for the life of him Draco couldn't have said whether he found it unwelcome. (Novel, certainly.)

"Honestly," she burst out, "have you people got nothing better to do than stand around running Draco down? Gods, you are so small-minded!"

Several people looked rather taken aback at her fierce and possibly unwarranted defense of someone who was, after all, well known for his sharp tongue and ability to defend himself. Ron looked as if he considered this evidence of her defection to the Dark side as a personal betrayal.

"Well?" she prodded. "Why are you all just standing here? McGonagall's waiting for you." She glared at them all impartially, hands on hips, and finally a few people edged toward the door and then there was a general exodus. With many a backward glance—some bewildered, some amused—everyone trooped out, leaving a bemused Draco staring at Ginny. She was looking at him with a peculiar expression on her face—was it pity? From a Weasley? _For a Malfoy?_ He must be imagining things. Still, it would never do to let her think. . . .

"Well, go on, Weaselette," he said, summoning up as much nastiness as he could, although even to his own ears it sounded half-hearted at best. "Why don't you just leave with the rest of your friends? Or—oh, I see. You want a poke at me yourself before you go, do you? In private, eh? By all means, then, do go right ahead."

She flushed—with the effort not to retort in kind, he was sure—but said nothing, instead going slowly over to stand by him. She looked into his face intently for a moment but to his surprise Draco saw no judgement in her eyes, just concern. Finally she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, her lips curving ever so slightly when he flinched.

"Stop being so touchy, Malfoy," she said evenly. "I was just going to say that if you wanted someone to talk to, I'd listen. That's all."

"Ah—against your better judgement, though, isn't it?" Draco scoffed. "You're mad if you think I'm going to come crying to you with my poor orphan woes so you can spread lies to all your friends about how pathetic I am."

"I would _nev_—" she began hotly.

"Well, you can forget it," he snapped. "I don't need anyone's shoulder to cry on. I'm not a child, in case you hadn't noticed. _And_ I'm a Slytherin. I can take care of myself."

Ginny gave him a Look. "I'm sure you can," she said flatly, her voice devoid of expression. "But wouldn't it be a nice change not to have to for once?" She shrugged. "Oh, well, just thought I'd offer. I wasn't aware you had so many friends floating about that you could afford to be picky." When he opened his mouth to blast her with more sarcasm she hurried on, sounding defensive. "And I wouldn't pass on what you tell me to anyone else—I wouldn't! I do know how to keep a confidence, Malfoy. _I'm_ not a child any longer, either, you know."

In spite of her erstwhile good intentions, she swept past him to the doors. She should have known he wouldn't want anything to do with her. It was just that he'd looked so bereft, so lonely—but, of course, she should know better by now. Malfoy was an expert at hiding his feelings under layers of sarcasm and ridicule; what had she been thinking, trying to comfort him?

"So this is how you express concern?" he drawled. "Toss an insult and run away?" He snorted. "Nice style you have there, Weaselette."

Ginny stood with her hand on the doorway and her back to him and counted to ten; it really did work . . . sometimes. Then she turned around, her color still high. "Don't call me that. I have a name—and you'll notice I'm not calling you Ferret. What do you want, Malfoy? You want me to leave, so you insult me—then you want me to stay, so you accuse me of not caring. I didn't offer to play stupid games with you. Tell me what you want or I'm out of here, and you can suffer all you like on your own."

He regarded her curiously, noticing how her eyes seemed to grow less gray and more blue as her indignation grew. His eye continued downward and he saw her, really looked at her, for the first time. After all, he didn't make a habit of going around gawking at spindly ginger ex-Gryffindors. But . . . she wasn't spindly any longer, was she? And her hair-when had it got those darker streaks in it? If she kept that up, one day she might not be instantly recognizable as a Weasley, he thought with an inward smirk. Gryffindor she would remain, unfortunately; nothing to be done about that, even if she was technically now considered a Phoenix.

_And why would you_ want_ to do anything about it?_ he asked himself, amazed at where his thoughts had taken him. _Weasley equals Gryffindor equals_ not_ the equal of a Malfoy. Period._

Ginny made a frustrated noise and spun on her heel. "Fine," she said shortly.

"Wait!" Draco called. Ginny halted but exhaled noisily to show her impatience. "You—" Draco cleared his throat because his voiced sounded so unlike him— "you know, actually I would rather like to talk." Ginny's shoulders slumped as though she didn't quite believe him. She turned and regarded him, her head tilted to one side to show dubiousness. "Really," Draco said. "I just—you—you're sure you wouldn't ever tell anyone? I mean, you're pretty close to Potter—" he spat the word— "aren't you? And Granger?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Of course. We're very good friends."

"Especially you and . . . ." Draco made a heroic effort to control his tone of voice. "Potter?" He swallowed, and he wondered if it seemed as loud to her as it did to him.

Ginny's cheeks, which had nearly regained their normal ivory hue, suddenly colored again, but this time she looked faintly uncomfortable rather than annoyed. "I just told you," she said, "we're very good friends."

"And what does that mean . . . exactly?" Draco prompted.

Ginny fidgeted a little. "Well, it—I'm not really—we haven't—"

Draco pounced. "You haven't what?"

Belatedly Ginny realized she was about to justify herself to _Malfoy_, of all people. "None of your business, Mr. Nosy," she said primly. "I offered to talk to you about _you_, not about me. Take it or leave it."

"No need to get in a huff," Draco said cautiously. "And, er—" Now it was his turn to color up.

Ginny watched in amazement. "What?" she asked. It seemed as if he'd run out of sarcasm and was being genuine for once, and she would have given much to know why he was blushing.

"Just—thank you," he blurted. Ginny burst into peals of laughter, and despite his embarrassment Draco noted that it actually was possible for eyes to sparkle. As Ginny's, now bluer than ever, were currently doing. Finally she got herself back under control, although she still had the most enchanting little smile on her face, which no longer looked prim and disapproving.

"Sorry," she said apologetically. "I shouldn't be laughing. That was really hard for you to say, wasn't it? And to me of all people." Draco shrugged and looked a little defensive himself now. "You're welcome," Ginny said gently. There didn't seem to be a need to say any more about it, so they both just stood there, studying each other.

"Well," Ginny laughed, "all right, then. I was going to go practice some turns on the Quidditch pitch. Why don't you come, too? I doubt anyone else will be there, so we can talk in peace. If you want to?"

"Sure," Draco said, beginning to feel positively enthusiastic. As he followed her out of the common room his eyes strayed downward once again and were blessed with a rear view of Ginny's nicely put-together person. Just then her head turned and she caught him looking.

"Malfoy . . ." she warned.

"What?" All innocence.

Ginny took his arm and hauled him up so he was even with her and then kept her arm in his, for good measure, as they continued down the stairs. "You know what." She didn't look at him, but her cheeks were pink and she was trying not to laugh, so he knew she wasn't really angry.

It wasn't that big a leap from talks on the Quidditch pitch to talks in front of the fireplace in the Phoenix common room until all hours, long after everyone else had gone to bed. Nor from there to falling asleep together on the sofa, talked out and exhausted from all the late nights.

Which was how their housemates found them one Saturday morning when they came down on their way to breakfast. Lavender and Parvati arrived first, and Lavender ran back to their room to urge Hermione to "get a move on, she wouldn't want to miss this." Hermione, grumbling because she hadn't had a chance to do anything with her hair, stumbled down the stairs after Lavender and was brought up short by the sight of Ginny cradled in Malfoy's arms, her head securely tucked into the crook of his neck, both of them sound asleep. Oh, this was just too good.

She waved her hand frantically at the others to shush them and raced up to the boys' dormitory to get Ron and Harry. By the time they got back downstairs a sizable crowd had gathered around the sofa to stare at the still-sleeping couple.

Ron yelped—it came out as more of a squeak—and grabbed Harry's arm. Harry patted his hand and murmured, "Calm down. It's okay." Ron gaped at the closely entwined figures with murder in his eye, and Harry chuckled and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Then he walked up to the sofa and cleared his throat. Loudly.

Malfoy's eyes flew open and he stared up at Harry uncomprehendingly. "Wha—where—" he stammered, a look of panic coming over his face at the sight of the crowd watching them with ill-disguised glee.

It took Ginny a bit longer. She snuggled closer to Draco, murmuring, "'s okay, we've got hours 'n' hours yet."

As he carefully eased Ginny to a sitting position, Draco kept an eye on Ron. Ginny moaned and reluctantly opened her eyes, yawning hugely. The expression on her face when, in mid-yawn, she saw all the onlookers was comical—beet-red, mouth wide, and eyes nearly as much so.

"So," Harry said, trying to look solemn. "Catching a little nap, eh?" He tsk'd and shook his head sorrowfully. "Really, Ginny, I hadn't expected this of you. And Malfoy . . . ." He shook his head again and threw up his hands. "I just don't know what to say."

Ginny, true to her nature, tried to explain. "But, Harry, we weren't—we were just—there's nothing going on!"

Harry raised the Eyebrow of Skepticism. "Riiight . . ." he said in clear disbelief.

Ron could keep still no longer. "By Merlin's flaming penis, Ferret, if you've—"

There were startled exclamations of "What?" "What did he say?" among the others, but he soldiered doggedly on. "—done anything to her, so help me I'll—I'll—"

Malfoy sniggered. He couldn't help it; Ron looked so furious but clearly couldn't come up with a decent threat. "You'll—you'll—what, exactly?" Malfoy asked helpfully.

Just as Ron lunged, Harry sidestepped, so that instead of ending up with his hands around Malfoy's neck Ron fell awkwardly across the arm of the sofa and slipped off it to land ignominiously on the floor. Harry glanced at Hermione, who in spite of herself was trying very hard not to laugh at the ridiculous picture Ron made, and gave a tiny nod toward their fallen friend. Hermione schooled her features into something more approximating sympathy and concern and went to help him up. She led him away from the group, making soothing noises as Ron protested feebly.

Harry glanced round and caught Seamus' eye and waggled his head toward their housemates. Seamus took his cue without hesitation.

"Come on, everyone, let's let the children wake up. Who's for breakfast? I can't wait—I hope they have sausages!" He went on in a similar vein as he ruthlessly herded everyone toward the doors and out into the corridor. Harry had one last glimpse of Seamus' puckish grin tossed over his shoulder, and then they were gone, Ron and Hermione included, and the doors whooshed closed again. Blessed silence descended.

Harry looked down at Malfoy, who stared defiantly back. It's kind of hard to do defiant when you're half-lying on a sofa with a sleep-warm, soft-sweatered girl plastered all over you, but he did his best. Ginny sat up properly and attempted to put her hair to rights and straighten her wrinkled clothes, but Malfoy stayed her with a gentle hand on her arm as Harry watched interestedly.

Finally Ginny looked up and met Harry's eyes. Far from defiant, she looked as if one careless word would have her in tears. "I-I'm sorry, Harry," she began, but Harry shook his head.

"You don't have to apologize to me for anything," he said firmly. "Actually I owe you quite a large apology myself. I have for some time. I just wasn't sure how to tell you . . . ." He appeared to have acquired a sudden fascination with the fringe on the carpet, and nudged at it with a trainer-clad toe.

"About you and Ron, you mean?" Ginny asked. Harry's eyes flew to hers in chagrin and she smirked. "Yes, I know. Ron sort of gave it away a long time ago. And, well, you haven't really seemed very . . . interested . . . since your birthday party."

His birthday party? The penny dropped and Harry recalled the pondside conversation he and Ron had had that night, and how it had ended. "You—heard us?" Draco perked up considerably at what sounded like a promisingly juicy story, but neither Ginny nor Harry took any notice of him.

"Let's just say I heard enough," she said simply. "Enough to know it wasn't me you really wanted."

Harry looked stricken. "Ah, Ginny, I'm sorry. I don't know what to—"

Now it was Ginny's turn to be magnanimous. "No need for that, Harry," she said hastily. "Obviously you and Ron are meant to be together, and—"

Draco whooped. "Wait—what? Potter and the _Weasel?_" he broke in, wild with curiosity.

"Malfoy," Ginny said reproachfully. "We've talked about names."

"Sorry. I meant, Potter and your brother? Really? Gods, that's a good one." He snorted. "I'll have to—"

"_Malfoy!_" Ginny and Harry chorused.

Draco looked disappointed. "But—" They glared at him in tandem, and he sighed resignedly. "Oh, all right." He looked up at Harry. "So you're okay with—" he motioned between Ginny and himself— "all this?"

Harry gave him a considering look. "Well, perhaps I should ask just what 'all this'—" he waved in imitation of Draco— "_is_, before I answer. Just what have you two been playing at?"

Ginny and Draco looked at each other for a long moment. Draco reached out to touch Ginny's hair. "I . . . don't think we're playing," he admitted finally. "Are we?"

That little smile came back to tease at the corner's of Ginny's mouth. "I wouldn't say so, no."

"Although I have to say I don't know exactly what it is we _are_ doing."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you do," Ginny said confidently.

"I do?"

"Yes," she said, and her eyes softened.

"Oh," Draco said happily, and he could feel a matching sappy expression on his own face. "Well, I suppose I do, at that." He looked up to say something to Harry, but, satisfied, Harry had quietly stolen out during this exchange.

Ginny asked hesitantly, "Did you ever think you'd be—um—doing . . . this . . . with me?" she asked. "A Weasley, of all people!"

"Ah—well—no, I suppose not," Draco allowed. "But my father's not here to forbid it now, is he, so . . . ." A flicker of pain crossed his face.

"I'm sorry about your parents, Draco," Ginny said, sorry to have brought it up. "I truly am. I can only imagine how hard losing them must have been." Draco shot her a quizzical look, and her apology came to a halt. "What?"

"Do you know, I think that's the first time you've ever said my name," he said, adroitly changing the subject. "My _first_ name. Kind of nice for a change."

Ginny smiled at the delight in his voice, and suddenly Draco couldn't help it. He just had to kiss her. So he stood up, not taking his eyes from hers, and walked over to her, and he kissed her—passionately, crazily, wildly—until they were both gasping for air. If toes could really curl, theirs would have.

And then he had to go and ruin the moment.

He drew back and looked at her with a mock-critical expression. "Gods, your hair's a mess."

"What?" She shoved him away and glared at him. Draco smiled smugly and ran his hand over his own closely-shorn head. "A right mess you are in the morning, eh? Not much of a morning person, either, are you? Crabby, I'd say. Definitely crabby. Good to know." He oozed as unobtrusively as possible in the direction of the door.

"Where are y—come back here! Malfoy! Don't you dare leave!" Ginny cried, and she ran after him. He feinted toward the door and then ran toward the fireplace, chortling. Ginny determinedly gave chase, snatching up a cushion from one of the easy chairs as she went by and chucking it at him. Draco laughed again, giddily, and ducked so that instead of hitting him the cushion thumped into Lupin's portrait, where he had been watching the proceedings with amusement.

"Oi-watch out!" came his muffled, surprised voice. Draco glanced back, and his hesitation gave Ginny just enough time to throw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. Draco staggered and his hands flew up to hold her and keep her from falling.

"Got you," she said triumphantly, breathing hard from the brief chase.

"Yes," Draco said. And on impulse, because it seemed like the right moment, and even his worst enemy couldn't have said he was stupid enough to not know a good thing when he saw it, he added, "You've got me—for as long as you want me."

Ginny looked at him closely, then loosened her grip and slid slowly down to stand in front of him. "Don't say things you don't mean," she said in a low voice. "I know we were joking around, but—"

"But I do mean it," he said, suddenly realizing that he did. "I'm yours, Ginny, for as long as you want me. I—I can't help hoping that will be rather a long time."

"You do? Me? Really?" She stared at him, her mouth inelegantly hanging open.

"I do. You. Really." Now it was his turn to try not to laugh, but Ginny didn't care.

"Draco."

"What?"

"I want to do something right now . . . so badly," Ginny whispered.

His mind boggled. "Yeah?" he said eagerly. "Wh-what, exactly?"

Ginny broke away from him and spun and twirled around the room, chanting, "He loooves me! He loooves me!" and doing a silly, uninhibited victory dance. Draco just stood there shaking his head as he watched her. Finally she wound down and went back and draped herself across his chest.

"You love me," she said happily.

"I do," he averred solemnly. "And do you . . . ."

"I do," she assured him. "I have for a while now."

"Really?" Something bright and fierce rose in him at her words.

"I was just waiting for you to notice that you felt the same," she said. Draco stared at her for a moment and then realized what she'd said and started to laugh.

"My father always did say I could be a bit slow," he said, his eyes dancing.

"Oh, I can easily believe it," she agreed sunnily.

"Ginny," he said, and his tone was suddenly solemn.

"What?"

"You're _very_ sure you and Potter are only friends? That bit about him and Weas—your brother—was that for real?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure," she said positively. "For a while I thought there was . . . something . . . but this summer, at Harry's birthday party, I happened to hear him and Ron talking and—well, talking—and it became very clear where his affections lay, and it was definitely not with _this_ Weasley. It's good, though. Somehow it seems like they belong together. I mean, I do love Harry, but . . . ." She looked up at the wary expression on Draco's face and said firmly, "But not like that. He's not the right man for me."

"Well, thank the gods for that," Draco said fervently. Just before he kissed her breathless he added, "Because you are _definitely_ the right Weasley for me."


End file.
